


Pride

by hippocrates460



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But ended up with Meditative Make-Out Monday, First Kiss, Greg & Mycroft watch a movie, I really tried for Soft Sunday Smut, M/M, Pride (2014) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 08:29:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15044912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippocrates460/pseuds/hippocrates460
Summary: Greg and Mycroft bump into each other at the movies. Sometimes all you need is for someone to understand.I don't think it's necessary to have seen Pride to understand this (though I think you should! it's great!)





	Pride

Mycroft takes one last drag of his cigarette, then steps to the bin to throw it out. He is enjoying the burn of his last slow exhale when he hears someone behind him inhale. With intent. They’re going to talk to him. He puts on a smile and turns around. He was really hoping for a minimal eye contact kind of day.

“Ah, DI Lestrade, good to see you.”

The DI laughs and shakes his offered hand, warm brown eyes shining. “Greg, please, it’s my day off.”

“I’ll be Mycroft then, it is mine also.”

Greg finishes his own cigarette and nods to the doors of the cinema. “After you.”

“Have you bought your tickets?” Mycroft asks over his shoulder.

“Just now, before my smoke. You?”

“I did, I bought them in advance.”

“Them? Should we be...”

Mycroft interrupts him. “No, I’m – I’m here alone. I bought two but then...” He lets himself trail off. It is his day off after all. And it’s been a strangely introspective one. It seems to have fried his ability to talk like a grown-up.

Greg nods like he understands what Mycroft is talking about. “Are you... in room 4 also?”

“I am,” Mycroft says, feeling himself smile genuinely for the first time in all too long. It’s got to be the best euphemism for ‘gay’ he’s heard in a while. Or ‘gay and interested in miners’ perhaps. ‘Gay since the 80s’.

Greg steers them to the counter and buys himself popcorn and a drink. “Anything for you?”

“Just water, please,” Mycroft tells him, glad but not surprised when Greg pays for it without even blinking.

Room 4 is rather empty. It’s a good thing in terms of watching the movie, rather less so if you follow the euphemism.

They stand on the stairs next to row 3 together. Mycroft’s tickets are for row 3.

“Who was the other ticket for?” Greg asks gently, holding out the carton of popcorn so Mycroft can have some.

“No one specifically,” Mycroft admits. Seems like the kind of movie you should watch with other people that were there. “I wanted to go very much.”

“Me too,” Greg nods, munching thoughtfully. He looks even more beautiful in the dim theatre light, leaning against the wall like he’s perfectly comfortable. “And who’d you bring to this? Work friends?”

Mycroft laughs, he can just picture himself asking Lady Smallwood. Greg grins back, happy and bright. “Can’t bring the rugby lads either.”

“Did you not want to bring Dr. Watson?” Mycroft teases. He knows they go to the pub together sometimes but isn’t sure there’s more than that to their friendship.

Greg lifts an incredulous eyebrow, “Captain John Watson?”

“Of the fifth Northumberland fusiliers,” Mycroft confirms, still laughing.

“No,” says Greg, “I did not want to bring Dr. Not Gay here.”

“Much as he might benefit from it,” Mycroft lets his voice drop, sharing gossip like he hasn’t in years. Greg nods slily, and then the lights dim.

“Why did you buy these in advance?” Greg nods to the tickets. The commercials have started but they can understand each other well enough along the aisle.

“Seems to help things along when I plan them well in advance,” Mycroft tells him. “I was also hoping for it to be quieter after opening weekend.”

Greg laughs a little, “not a fan of crowds either, are you?”

“Too much data,” Mycroft confirms, then changes his mind about watching this movie alone. “Join me. I have nice seats.”

He puts a hand on Greg’s arm, carelessly reaching out. Greg grins and nods and follows him past the people that are sitting already. Steadies him when someone’s bag threatens to trip him in the dark.

They sit down together and Greg holds out his popcorn again. It’s salty but then if Mycroft had wanted nice popcorn he should’ve bought his own.

*

The movie starts and Greg feels Mycroft sit up straighter. He doesn’t seem as on edge as he normally does, even though he’s still immaculately dressed. Something about him seems softer.

Greg checks from the corner of his eye to see the colours of the movie play out on Mycroft’s face. He looks enraptured, as if he’s never seen anything like this before. Might’ve been a while since he went to the movies. His mouth is relaxed, his eyes are wide open. Greg wants to touch him.

About halfway through, Greg checks up on Mycroft and finds he hasn’t moved but his eyes are bright. He feels around in his pocket for the tissues he’d brought and hands one over. Mycroft shoots him a grateful little smile and blows his nose.

Greg’s breath hitches as he hears “I just want to talk to you” and thinks _it’s night_ _you’re alone go home don’t stop keep walking_. Mycroft shifts next to him and places a warm hand over where Greg is clutching the arm rest so hard it hurts. They stay like that until Greg needs to get himself a tissue. They share the popcorn and a few more looks. Quick things, when the movie is funny, or sweet.

When it’s over, Greg leans back. Around them the theatre starts emptying out.

“I was there,” he finds himself saying. “Like Bromley in the movie. Joe. Joined the academy with a group of people that couldn’t afford university and wanted change from the inside too.”

“But you didn’t stay in touch?” Mycroft’s voice is soft and gentle.

“Dead now, or married.” Greg’s voice is still a little rough.

Mycroft nods, “I was there too, but not on the right side. I was working my first job out of university, for a rather conservative politician. It took years before I started standing up for myself in terms of all this.”

“Let’s go,” Greg finds himself saying. He takes Mycroft’s hand and steers them out of the theatre, into a nearby pub. When they’re both safely tucked away and holding a drink, Mycroft sighs and chuckles.

“That was quite something, wasn’t it?”

“Did you like it?” Greg tilts his head to look at Mycroft. He doesn’t look so immaculate now, his eyes are tired and his hair out of order. Even his shoulders are relaxed.

“Well,” Mycroft starts, leaning his head back against the wall, “not all of it was accurate of course.”

“Obviously,” Greg grins fondly.

“But I am glad that overall it was light-hearted and optimistic.”

“Me too,” Greg says, turning in his seat. He looks at pale grey eyes, coppery hair, softness where Mycroft has always seemed harsh and sharp before. “May I?”

Mycroft must see the intent in his face, for suddenly there is thrumming energy between them, the memory of quiet comfort in the face of distress over something that happened thirty years ago. He nods.

Greg cups his face with a gentle hand, swipes a thumb along his cheek, then leans in to touch soft lips to stressed mouth. Mycroft kisses back almost immediately, careful and aware of their surroundings, until he shifts for better access.

Then there’s only Greg. Warm, friendly Greg. Beautiful, kind, Greg.


End file.
